


Rum Colored War

by charmanderkitty4



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, Forbidden Love, Mobs, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 20:03:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmanderkitty4/pseuds/charmanderkitty4
Summary: In 1930's Chicago, two rival gangs run the night. The Chance Gang; headed by an irrational party girl who loves chaos, protected by the ex-boxing star of Chicago and one love sick guy, and kept together by the even headed keeper of the books Who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Than there's the Roncalli gang, run by a very dangerous woman and her gaggle of men, who protect her empire and her younger sister. They must fight to keep control of Chicago, protect their gangs from love and death, and finally decide who will come out on top of this Rum Colored War.





	Rum Colored War

Fog rolls into the streets of Chicago early in the colder months. The light from the moon shines on the city, revealing things that wouldn't dare show their faces when the sun rises. Degenerates, gamblers, and gangsters roam these streets like the nobility of the night. Free from the public eye, this is their time to drink, fight, and claim their chunk of this damn city. And god help you if you’re a good man out when the street lamps come on. I don't know how many Johns I've seen face down in the gutters, covered in their own blood, just cause they decided to take a late night stroll down the wrong alley. And if your lucky, or unlucky, enough to stumble into one of the places with its lights still on after eight, you are no longer a good man. You’r one of us, the kind of people who hang outside hidden dives and wait for people who owe someone you work for money.

This night in particular, we are waiting for a rat names Steven Clams. Clams is a well known gambler and cheat in any joint from Chicago to Florida, but his debts are more well known than his name. I've never been a betting man myself, so I don't know what compels men like Clams to tempt fate in a place like Chicago. But tonight the house wins again I guess, cause after a hour of waiting he is thrown head first into the dumpsters outside of Minnie’s. Pissed in more ways than one, the small man curses endlessly into the night air like a poet waxing poetic about his awful mistreatment. His clothes are ripped and smell like a liquor store, so maybe he still has some luck in him, since we are the one who come out of the night to greet him instead of the long arm of the law itself. His words catch in his mouth when he meets our eyes, and we know it's time to talk.

  
“Hey ya fellas.” Know, we all knew why we're here, we had done this before. But just like many of the others before him, he tries to buy some time with pleasantries. “ Snapper, looking sharp as ever.” One of his greasy hands hangs outstretched before me, but I don't have to shake it, so I don't. After a bit, he gets the hint and swings his hand over to my associate. “And Sharktooth! Ol Donny! How you been?” My partner Donny just nods at him but keeps his arms crossed, his knuckles visible in the darkness. Years ago, he got the words “Shark Tooth” tattooed across his hands, I think it was just after his big fight in New York. Before he joined our profession even I had heard of Patrick “Shark Tooth” Donnelly. His record for boxing wasn't the best, but man could he take some punches. I think that's why I was sent to invite him in all those years ago, cause she wanted some muscle she could abuse. But boy was I surprised when he agreed. Made my night to see him so enthused. But that's old history, and while I've been thinking about it Clams scrambled his way out the dumpster and is getting a bit too close to Donny. “ I see you've taken some pretty good swings lately.” Clams takes a play swing at Donny, but revived a really one back right in the jaw. He hits hard on the ground, and starts crying. It's pathetic to see a grown man crying, at least in my opinion.

  
“Aye Snapper.” Donny pops his shoulders and cracks his knuckles over the weeping heap. His voice always has a low growl to it, which makes up for what he lacks in intimidating size. “I say we skip the chat and get to the hard part.” His famous toothy smile unnerves me sometimes, especially cause of the missing teeth.

  
“No.” I'm not about to break my code just to get this over with. I do have a reputation for being a man of etiquette. Donny respects that about me, and decides to take a step back to let me work. The leather bound book I carry has been nicknamed “the book of death” by my associates, but it's simply where I keep my notes and records. Without keeping records, our enterprise would crumble easily, so I keep it with me everywhere I go. I'll open to the debts owed, and find his name. “Steven Clams?” The person in question is crying too much to respond, which makes this so much harder. Maybe a swift kick will help him talk.

  
“UGH!” Clams takes the kick to the ribs, but responds by puking up his guts all over the floor and my shoes. I'm really losing my patients.

  
“Steven Clams…” I don't hold back the anger in my voice this time. His eyes show me he gets my game.

  
“Ugggg…..yes…?” The fire he had against the casino behind us is long dead, and the scent of fear overpowers the alcohol on his breath.

  
“You owe the Chance gang five-hundred twenty seven dollars and fifty three cents, is this correct?” Clams looks almost astonished by my record keeping, down to the last cent. Cause somewhere in our empire, those cents count. So we plan to collect every penny.

  
“I mean…come on fellas. I said I'd pay ya back….I just had a run of rotten luck from this..this cheating establishment.” Clams isn't playing ball today, which only makes it worse for him and better for Donny.

  
“Donny.” Without hesitation, by partner pulls up Clams to his feet and lands a hard fist to his stomach. A few more swings and Clams is wheezing for release. I wave my hand, and Donny drops the now much smaller man before me. I lean as close as I can without choking on his smell. “I'm not going to repeat myself.”

  
“YES! Yes! I owe whatever you said! Ow… Jesus.”

  
“Good.” My favorite red pen checks my math, than point at the guilty party. “I assume you can't pay everything today, so let's skip all that.” Clams whimpers at the smile that spreads on Donny’s face. “ How much can you pay today?”   
“Wait. what?” Clams is so caught off guard, he almost bites his own tongue.

  
“How much can you pay right now?” I ask more politely. As many times as I've done this, they react better when I'm pleasant about the money.

  
“Oh! Yes I can pay some now!” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some crumbled bills. It's not nearly enough, but he counts it anyway. “ I've got one-fifty today fellas.” Taking the bills, I recount, cause some of our previous bounties have tried to juke us out of money.

  
“Very good, Mr Clams. I will mark one-hundred fifty dollars off your debt.” The red pen makes the corrections, and I do some math on my own. “Unfortunately, you still owe us three-hundred seventy-seven dollars and fifty three cents. Which means that we will have to add a late fee to your debt to extend your payment.” The hope in Mr Clams eyes dies, truly my favorite part of this job. “This means you still owe us four-hundred dollars and fifty- seven cents.” I smile and close the book as Mr Clams tried to do the math in his head.

  
“A twenty-two dollar fee! That's insane boys, I mean come on!”

  
“It's all in the contract that you signed, Steven.” They never read the contracts, so I can put in basically whatever I need to add. “Now, I believe my job here is done. Donny.”

  
“Alright! Time to punch in!” The only thing Donny loves more than making bad jokes is getting to hurt someone. But, Donny’s beating have a sick beauty to them, if you stay around long enough to watch. It's almost like he's dancing, the way he moves and calculates ways to best hurt his opponent. Unlike his fighting, Donny is sloppy and brutish usually, a strange match to my tight etiquette, but one hell of a guy to know. The poundings usually go on till Donny runs out of air or when the victim is close to death. Tonight Donny lets up early, leaving Clams enough energy to lay up against the dumpster he was to ceremoniously chucked into earlier. I know Donny’s got other things on his mind, and wants to get out of here as fast as possible. He turns to me with his fist closed.

  
“Hey red! Open your hand.” He drops some bloody change into my palm. “You can take that off his debt, since it feel outa his pockets.”

  
“Well Mr. Clams. I think we've made our point clear.” Picking up his misplaced handkerchief, I dab a bit of blood from Clams’s face, as a gentleman would. “We will be seeing you again in three months for your next payment installment.” One of his eyes is swollen shut, but I can see in his free eye that he won't be late again. “Goodbye Mr. Clams, happy gambling.”

Donny and I are a real pair to see walking the night, one wiping someone else's blood from his face with a manic smile and the other like a stuffy businessman checking off his last collection. A better pair of degenerate brothers in occupation there has never been, nor will there ever be in the streets of Chicago. And where do such men go after they finish their work. Why, to the most well known hole in the wall around; The Golden Flower. 


End file.
